Play It Again
by Galadriel1010
Summary: Sequel to 'A Pest, Not A Guest'. Jack's punishment gives him time to mull over how time has changed.


**Author's note:** Shameless borrowing from 'Casablanca'. I know this isn't quite what we were expecting (me included) but Ianto is stubborn and... *shrugs* would you argue with him?

* * *

Jack turned the glossy page over and skimmed over the pictures. He'd stopped paying attention to what he was looking at half an hour back, but he needed something to do to stop himself thinking. He could have left and gone back to the Hub, but there was a point being proved here. It was a shame he couldn't work out what it was.

He sighed and turned another page, and Ingrid Bergman stared out at him. They didn't make them like that any more; the forties were just a more elegant time. Easier, as well, with the admittedly frustrating rules. And the war. He didn't miss that.

"_You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh, the fundamental things apply, as time goes by." _He lifted his head but didn't look at Ianto, who was somewhere behind him, probably in the doorway still if Jack hadn't heard his feet on the bare wood floor in the living room. "You're still here."

"Yeah," he agreed, turning another page. "I can't work out if I'm proving a point, or paying my penance. Or just lazy and hoping for coffee in the morning as a reward for sticking it out."

Ianto chuckled and padded across the floor towards him and stopped, leaning on the back of the sofa to look over Jack's shoulder. "Ah, Bogart. I don't think that book's been opened until now."

"No, probably not," Jack agreed. "I don't think they're really supposed to be read."

Laughing, Ianto pushed off the sofa and circled it to sit down next to Jack and take half of the book onto his lap. He was wearing low-slung jogging bottoms, and curled into Jack's side so that the only place Jack could comfortably put his arm was around his shoulders. "I wish I'd seen it," he sighed. "It just seems so different."

"I'm glad you didn't," Jack told him. "You would have been on the front lines, fighting and maybe dying for your country. And we couldn't have had this." He squeezed Ianto's shoulders to make his point.

Ianto looked up at Jack and cupped his cheek, turning Jack's face so that he could kiss him softly. "You know I didn't really mind, don't you?"

"I hoped," Jack corrected him on a sigh. "I didn't know, but I hoped."

"You do now." Ianto brushed his cheek with gentle, calloused fingertips and kissed him again. "I didn't actually expect you to stay on the sofa, if I'm honest."

Jack chuckled and nuzzled into his hand. "But I always do what I'm told." Ianto raised an eyebrow and he amended, "Most of the time."

"Some of the time," Ianto corrected him, grinning. "When it suits you." His eyes softened and he uncurled himself and stood up. "Are you coming to bed, then?"

Jack closed the book and set it back on the table, then followed him through to the bedroom. Ianto slipped straight back under the covers, but Jack stripped down to his underwear and folded his clothes carefully before he joined him. He reached across and Ianto shifted towards him, tucking himself against Jack with a sigh of contentment that took all of the tension out of his body. Jack brushed a kiss to his forehead and settled down as well, brushing his fingers across Ianto's back in whorls and lines that sometimes followed the texture of scars and sometimes didn't. He closed his eyes and started talking. "In nineteen forty two, I was on loan to 609 Squadron whilst they were at Duxford. I don't really remember why... I was a test pilot for a lot of the war, because I was the best pilot they had, and it didn't matter if I didn't manage to bring her in safely." Ianto tightened his arms around Jack and Jack stroked his back gratefully. "But it was one of the few times in the war when I had a squadron leader; or a squadron, for that matter. His name was William, and he was beautiful. We all loved him... but not the way I loved him."

Ianto blinked, and his eyelashes brushed against Jack's chest. "Were you together?"

"No. It was the nineteen forties, Ianto." He sighed. "If I'd let it slip, I would have been doing hard labour, and Torchwood wouldn't have got me out of it. They thought they'd cured me."

"That's awful," Ianto muttered, voice thick with tiredness.

Jack smiled and hugged him tighter. "I didn't worry about it today. I worried that you'd be annoyed with me, but I didn't worry that you'd get hurt because of me. Do you know how amazing that is?"

"I would have thumped them," Ianto pointed out with a grunt.

"Well, that too," he conceded. "Sleep now."

"I'm trying." Ianto smiled against his chest. "Someone keeps talking."

Jack took the point and shut up, drifting off into the night, quietly contented.


End file.
